


generator

by monstersinthecosmos



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: CAPTAIN SHIROGANE, CMNM, Dom Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Sub Keith (Voltron), Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstersinthecosmos/pseuds/monstersinthecosmos
Summary: UNIFORM prompt for Kinktober. :)





	generator

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Tumblr died so I'm gonna be posting some old fics that I'd written from inbox prompts. Here's one from Kinktober!
> 
> Named after [Generator](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iN62Ble3fLc) by VNV Nation because it gives me angsty/horny space feels, what else is new.
> 
> I kinda rushed through this one cause I was trying to keep the Kinktobers under 1000 words, but I might return to it one day and flesh it out into a full length and get! that! E! rating!

 

There’s a lot to think about during the journey. It’s more than just staving off the boredom, the sensory deprivation. His mind really is alive. 

 

Like, he’s never really considered himself homesick. Earth hadn’t felt like home in a long time anyway. But now that they’re returning it’s the little things he realizes he misses. He can’t wait to have a huge soda and ziti pizza. He wants to see a desert sunset. Maybe it will rain while they’re there. 

 

He can’t wait to have a change of clothes. He wonders if his worldly possessions even exist somewhere anymore. But a hoodie? A different pair of jeans. New gloves. He finds himself daydreaming about it. 

 

But he keeps thinking about Shiro, too. He pictures Shiro in a bespoke suit, with a fancy watch. In a douchey muscle shirt. Or maybe in distressed jeans, maybe with a big belt buckle, maybe with a t-shirt that’s just a little too tight, the sleeve crying for forgiveness around his bicep. Maybe he’ll wear sunglasses. 

 

Sometimes it’s distracting to think about, and he makes himself stop. He buries it to function and doesn’t say anything to Shiro. They travel, they focus. And the Earth waiting for them is a fucking mess.

 

So there’s no pizza and no time to indulge in his stupid CMNM fetish and he’s too stressed to even remember it anyway. They don’t have time to get elaborate. The few times they do fuck it’s desperate and messy, unplanned. The sort of fuck they usually both need after near-death. The holy-fuck-you-almost-died kinda way they get, and maybe if they weren’t such maimed people they’d make it more romantic. But it’s not just about love. It’s about anger. They want this war over and they’re so frenzied and full of spite.

 

Time passes, though. Things settle. They each almost fucking die again and take time to recover. And it’s quiet, for once. It rains outside. Shiro sneaks them Jack & Cokes from The Outside and they can pretend to be normal for a bit.

 

No clothes, though. It’s disappointing and he wasn’t sure what he expected. The Garrison costume puts him on edge, reminds him of being a kid. It seems like such a long time ago, another life. 

 

Shiro, though.

 

It irritates him at first. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He knew the trip to Earth wasn’t a vacation but being thrown back into rigid Garrison bullshit seems insulting after everything they’ve been through. They’ve been traveling outer space, they’ve been saving the fucking universe, and they get back and have a dress code? Shiro laughs at him when he complains about it and Keith wants to be mad.

 

But even though he’s been banking on the hot boyfriend fashion show, something about Shiro in uniform shuts him up real fast. At first he isn’t sure what his deal is, but as they settle into a routine and spend more time there, little memories keep coming back. It looked different back then—rooms have been remodeled, offices repurposed. Some of the hallways have been painted a different color. But he remembers being here. With Shiro. 

 

He hasn’t admitted it to Shiro yet but something about him in his officer’s jacket lights up a primal part of Keith’s brain. Maybe he hasn’t admitted it to himself, either, but he’s realizing that this outfit is sort of his blueprint for the type of man he likes. It’s formative, written deep, so that it tingles in his head to see Shiro like this again. It’s validating. 

 

Well, “type of man” is sort of a lie. He thinks his sexuality has always been sort of dictated by Shiro. Shiro was the first guy he ever liked. He used to watch him and Adam together and he was so curious about them. He’s never told Shiro that his Garrison jacket made frequent appearances in his mind during all the confused horny teen nights, or even in the pining serious adult nights. It’s sort of a constant. 

 

So he wants to tease and he wants to complain, but, fuck. Shiro looks good. The uniform makes him look bigger. Or maybe it makes Keith feel smaller? It exudes authority in a way that makes him feel young and uncomfortable, out of place. Garrison bullshit.

 

It’s making him itchy and warm the night Shiro puts the captain's pins on his shoulder straps. Keith is on the floor, deep in a stretch, and Shiro is sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s got  the jacket in his lap, only wearing an undershirt on top. It’s tight over his chest. Keith can see the lines of his muscles through the fabric, his nipples, the raised lines of scars. There’s a tiny wrinkle of concentration in his brow as his prosthetic hand pinches the tiny clasps; he must still be adjusting to his new dexterity. He hasn’t complained about it, though. 

 

“Captain, huh?” Keith asks. He twists his hips until his spine cracks and pretends he’s disinterested. Shiro just gives a half chuckle under his breath, but Keith sees the way he blushes. His fingers click over the pins. 

 

Finally he gives it a once over and slips the jacket on, buttons it, tucks the edges of the right sleeve into his shoulder appliance. He stands and smooths it down over his hips. There’s a moment of silence as he waits for a reaction.

 

“You look like such a dick,” Keith says. 

 

“Wow,” Shiro says, but he’s laughing. He turns to check himself in the mirror, fusses with the epaulets and runs a hand through his hair. “I see you’re as respectful to your superiors as you’ve always been.”

 

Shit.  _ Captain _ . Jesus Christ.

 

Some adolescent rebellious trigger is being pulled on the inside; Keith maybe matured out in space, he maybe has a better control on his impulses now, but he hated this shit as a kid and it still makes him bristle. And it’s hard to reconcile how irritated the whole institution makes him feel with the absolutely devastating set to Shiro’s posture. He looks so powerful. 

 

When Shiro turns back around to face him he feels his insides turn to jelly. His face is dark, he’s got That Look, and Keith thinks he’s about to get ruined.

 

“Come here,” he says. It’s his officer voice, smooth and confident, commanding. Keith’s throat is going dry as he moves to stand, but Shiro lifts a hand to gesture for him to stop. “No, Cadet. Stay on your knees.” 

 

Well, this is new. Keith’s face heats as he crawls across the floor. He lets his head hang and isn’t sure if it’s an act or if he’s hiding his blush, and he watches his hands move across the linoleum. He sees Shiro’s shiny black boots first, feet apart in a power stance. He settles back and sits up, gaze continuing to see where Shiro’s pant legs are tucked in. It’s all perfectly in place, unwrinkled. And he’s been ragging on him about the whole thing, but suddenly Keith feels unkempt and shy. 

 

“Shiro,” he begins to say as he looks up, but the way he looms over makes the words fall away. 

 

“Did you want to say that again?” The voice is gentle, condescending, and it burns up to Keith’s ears. 

 

He swallows hard but doesn’t know the answer. Shiro’s large new hand comes down on the top of Keith’s head, petting. 

 

“Tell me,” he says. “How do I look?”

 

“Good.” He can barely hear himself. 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“Really good.”

 

It’s odd the way Shiro is learning to maneuver his new arm, a strange sensation that he’s able to skate his fingers down Keith’s back until he’s curling into the waistband of his pants. Keith shudders at the thought that he’s about to be completely destroyed. 

 

“It suits you,” he adds. He chews his bottom lip.  _ I’m so proud of you _ , he wants to say, but he isn’t ready. 

 

Even standing above him, he’s able to smack Keith on the ass with his new hand. Keith jolts forward.

 

“It’s suits me, what?”

 

Fuck. “It suits you, sir.”

 

Shiro cocks an eyebrow.

 

“ _ Captain _ ,” Keith amends. He’s sweating. “It suits you, Captain.”

 

Goddamnit. 

  
  



End file.
